Captain Beefstick and the Mutant Band
by Wallace
Summary: When Sabretooth has a bad hair day, a soldier finds himself surrounded by enemies and with his very own stalker. Crossover with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.


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Captain Beefstick and the Mutant Band

By Wallace (wal_lace@hotmail.com)

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Disclaimer: The overwhelming majority of the characters and concepts utilised or referenced herein are the property of various corporations, probably including, and not necessarily limited to, Mutant Enemy, the government of the United States of America, Marvel Enterprises, 20th Century Fox and Kevin Smith. The title is a reference to Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band, and this must be acknowledged, even though I've never listened to their music and don't even know what kind of music it is. And this whole thing can and should be blamed on Troll Princess, who is the Typhoid Mary of her own special brand of insanity. I make no claims on the intellectual property of any other being or entity, and utilise it for the amusement of myself and others, rather than for profit.

  
**Continuity:** Set after both X-Men movies. Although I think it will stand alone quite nicely, this story serves as a sort-of-semi-sequel to my as-yet unfinished fic Lifestyle Changes. It's roughly a year after that story, which means the year is 2002. Within Buffy continuity, it's just after the end of Season Six, although that's not going to be very relevant.

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One

'What's the mission, Cyke?'

'Sabretooth is on the rampage.'

'And this requires an entire team? Just drop Wolverine, let the two testosterone machines get it out of their systems.'

Logan growled. Cyclops turned his visor's most intense glare on the older superhero. Okay, so seeing everything in shades of red was annoying, but being able to outstare Wolverine? So cool.

'Sabretooth is on the rampage… in the Mall of America.'

'What set that off?' On the other hand, he was beginning to regret ever letting Jubilee join the team. She asked far too many questions. And not the important kind, like "What's your plan, Cyclops?" No, she asked the annoying ones, like "Don't you find the uniform makes your underwear bunch?" and "Do your visor headphones pick up Gaydar Radio?"

'Details are unclear. The Professor couldn't get much from his mind, but it apparently started in Neiman Marcus, and had something to do with... hair care products.'

Wolverine giggled, and then glanced hurriedly around the X-Jet to make sure no one had noticed. Just to make sure, he added a manly growl.

'So he wrecked the place.'

Jubilee shot from her customary slouch to a bolt upright position, almost vibrating in her seat.

'He's going down!' Was her ringing declaration. Every superhero has a breaking point.

'And there are complications.'

'What complications? Complications how? Hostages? PETA announcing that Sabretooth's an animal and it's unethical to kick his ass? Nair?'

'No, it's… wait a minute, Bobby. Nair?'

'… Long story. Let's not.'

'Okay. The problem is that the military are also on their way.'

'Military as in the actual US Army? Or those generic black-clad paramilitary types that we seem to encounter every other week.'

'Paramilitaries.' The team's long-suffering leader surveyed his charges, and began detailing the basic plan. 'Wolverine, Charity, you're with me. We'll go after Creed. Colossus, Iceman, Jubilee, you'll be dealing with the military. Try not to hurt anybody. Nightcrawler, Ariel. . .'

'It's Shadowcat.' Interrupted Kitty.

'Shadowcat?'

'Since Tuesday.' She sounded only slightly petulant.

'I thought you changed to Sprite?' Bobby sounded puzzled. She scowled at him.

'That was last week.'

'Whatever you say, Seven-Up.'

'All right.' Cyclops struggled to recover the flow. 'Nightcrawler, Shadowcat, Rogue, you're on crowd control and damage limitation. Storm, you're in reserve. Try to make sure nothing gets out of hand.' It wasn't easy running a team of mavericks and rookies. Ororo was a steadying influence, and the one completely reliable person Scott had ever met. 'For those of you who have never faced him, Sabretooth's a lot like Wolverine, only bigger and nastier. There's no need to hold back; if he comes near you, hit him with everything you've got and then retreat.'

Scott hated having to make things up as he went along. It wasn't that he couldn't compose and execute a flawless plan in seven and a half seconds flat while dodging machine-gun fire, it was just that having to do so meant that he couldn't use the Ultra-Cool Nail Board Tactical Map Thingy to brief the team. It had taken him four months to persuade the Professor to fork out for the Ultra-Cool Nail Board Tactical Map Thingy, and Cyclops was fairly certain that, with its help, he could make _any_ plan whatsoever sound impressive. Even the one that went, 'Colossus picks up Wolverine and throws him at the bad guy, really, really, hard.'

He was fond of that plan; it included a statistically fairly high chance of Wolverine being thrown really, really hard into a solid, unyielding surface, like a wall, or the Professor's step-brother or, on one rather memorable occasion, a gigantic robotic pteranodon.

'Sitrep, sir?'

'Unidentified Type 4 HST at the Mall of America.'

'Rampaging, sir?'

'Full Kill-Crush-Destroy. This could be messy, Finn. Out.'

'Yes, sir.' Riley switched off the radio, and shouted over the noise of the helicopter. 'Okay, we've got a Type 4 in a mall. We're going in blind, so I'll be taking in squad one for a visual reconnaissance. We've got people on their way to close off road access. I want squads two and three to locate entrances to either flank and prepare for rapid entry. Squad four in reserve. First priority is to minimise civilian casualties. Then we contain the HST, and execute a takedown as and when. Planning on the go, once we know more, and anybody does anything stupid, I'll gut you myself. Any questions?' He managed to avoid Sam's gaze.

There were none.

'Dust-off in four minutes. Be ready.'

Victor Creed was having a bad hair day. Considering just how much hair he had, this was a serious situation.

It had all started when he had dropped by the salon to have his hair and eyebrows styled and his scalp massaged with nourishing oils. It was a treat he liked to give himself once a month, whatever other chaos, carnage and mayhem he might happen to have timetabled.

So he'd been in the chair, head tilted forward, while the stylist rubbed in conditioner and made comments about how rugged he was, when suddenly one of the women lit a cigarette. Now, Sabretooth was fairly live-and-let-live about smoking; he didn't like the smell, but he didn't like most of the smells his nose brought to him. The cigarette wasn't a problem. But then one of the staff asked her to put it out, and she went and dropped it into a plant pot which, even from across the room, he could smell held only a large plastic fern and, for no obvious reason, quite a large amount of coconut oil. Of all the unpleasant smells that Sabretooth really, really hated, the smell of burning plastic was very near the top of the list.

So he had stood up from the chair, planning on storming across, putting out the fire, and maybe twist the silly bitch who'd started it's head off while he was there. And then the noxious smoke hit the fire alarm. And the sprinklers went off.

His new perm was _ruined_.

However, he could deal. He had a system. There was no need to panic, no need to get all irrational. Just slaughter a few dozen people and use their blood as a setting agent. Along the way, growl a lot, stamp around, and generally demonstrate more machismo than the entire population of Texas.

So the day had started out bad, but was getting a lot better.

And then he heard the helicopters.

'Waitaminute!' Jubilee yelled, rather more loudly than the length of the jet actually required. Scott sighed inwardly. Okay, so it looked kind of dorky, but at least his old visor had included ear protection.

'What?' He asked, managing, through long years of hard training, to sound patient and ready to listen.

'Who's in charge?' The girl asked. Scott swivelled his chair to face her.

'What?'

'I mean, yeah, you're the team boss and all, but you've split us up into, like, mini-teams. So, who's in charge of this mini team?' He winced. Flawless plans? No such thing.

'Colossus,' he began, but the gigantic young farmboy interrupted.

'No, Cyclops, I am sorry. But I have not the qualities of a leader.' After years in America, the youth's English was flawless. Unfortunately, so was his point; Peter would always be looking for someone to tell him what to do.

Scott started to speak, but was forestalled.

'No.' Said Bobby. 'Just… no.' The field leader of the X-Men sighed. Why did Sabretooth have to go crazy now, with Gambit and Beast both away? He might not like Gambit, but the young thief was quick, decisive and independent-minded, while he'd trust Hank with anything on Earth.

'Alright.' He said. 'Jubilee? Don't screw up.' The girl grinned.

'I'm the boss?' There was a terrible, frozen pause, as, all around the jet, the implications of Scott's decision sunk in. Then she spoke.

'Bobby, I want...' Peter Rasputin placed one massive hand very gently over her mouth, gripped the collar of her uniform, and lifted her effortlessly out of her seat.

'Think very carefully about what you want to happen next, Jubilee.' He advised her, and then set her on her feet. She paused, glared up at him, and then continued to Bobby as if nothing had happened.

'... you and Colossus to tell me if you think I'm doing anything wrong, and help me try and... y'know... lead?'

'An excellent plan.' Peter told her.

'Works for me.' Agreed Bobby.

Riley and his men managed a clean dust-off in the parking lot, and swiftly spread out to find entrances. Riley was almost instantly waylaid by a police lieutenant, whose men were working on evacuating the massive building.

'Who the hell are you?' Riley spoke fast. He didn't have time to waste but, his parents had taught him, a gentleman always has time to be polite.

'I'm Captain Finn, US Marine Corps. Don't worry, sir, we'll take over from here. If your men could just try and secure a perimeter, we should be able to defuse the situation within the hour.'

'Perimeter?' The man was about forty years old, tall, with greying hair and a tough, lined face. 'Have you any idea how big this building is? I've got two uniforms on each exit, and I'm already out of men. And this isn't a normal situation. I don't know what that thing is, but it ripped two of my people apart!' He sounded angry and desperate.

'That's why we've sent us, sir. We're trained for this kind of situation. Please, don't let anyone go inside the building.' The policeman looked at him a moment longer, then turned away, reaching for a radio. Riley glanced around, and then yelled. 'Miller!'

'Yo!' Graham glanced up.

'Ready to go?' The other soldier gave thumbs up as Riley jogged over to join him by the main entrance. Six more men in black and grey fatigues were arrayed to either side of the doors. 'Then let's...' Riley paused and looked up, as the biggest, sleekest jet he had ever seen shot overhead, seeming to almost touch the building and travelling at an appreciable fraction of the speed of sound.

There was a long pause. Two of the soldiers, who had been knocked off their feet by the slipstream, picked themselves up.

'Go?' Riley finally managed.

As they moved in, splitting in to two fire teams and advancing across the entrance court, one of his soldiers voiced the question on all of their minds.

'What the hell was that, sir?'


End file.
